


the nuclear option

by themegalosaurus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Demon Blood Addict Sam Winchester, First Time, M/M, Minor Rowena MacLeod/Sam Winchester, Post-Episode: s15e04 Atomic Monsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 13:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21411010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themegalosaurus/pseuds/themegalosaurus
Summary: A woman, small and dark, detaches herself from a group of friends and perches beside him. “You all by yourself?” she asks.Sam thinks of Dean, sleeping. “Yes,” he says.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 74
Kudos: 177





	the nuclear option

**Author's Note:**

> I loved this week's episode. So much dark stuff to relish.

It really is the nitrates, why Sam doesn't eat bacon; but after he's spat it out in brittle chunks across the table, the flavour lingers at the back of his tongue. There's a charcoal edge to it, a smokiness that feels both dangerous and familiar.

It didn't come from just one place, what happened with Ruby; he'd been angry, grieving, desperate for some kind of control. He'd wanted to make the best of the most disgusting parts of him. He had looked at the shambles of his life, what was left of it, and wanted to blow the whole thing up.

Dean's idea that they work the case isn't a bad one. They've done as much for each other countless times before; yanked one another bodily out of a depression through the power of occupation and obligation both. It's just the details that are unfortunate. Sam finds the girl near-comatose in the Whitmans’ garage, laid out with her blood draining dark into a plastic pouch. His fingertips brush against it as he lifts her and the warm give of the liquid sends a shiver down his throat.

"I'm a monster," says Billy and Sam stiffens his jaw. Later, he watches as Dean decapitates the kid, a swift switch of the machete that leaves blood arcing black onto the forest floor. Dean sticks the blade into the earth and wipes his hands on his thighs. Sam has himself been on his knees before his brother, a sharp edge aiming at his throat. (Dean was the monster then but it was Sam’s need that condemned him, the dark inevitability of what he might do to get Dean back.)

They bury Billy in the woods where they killed him. Sam does most of the digging. The burn in his triceps and the twinging muscles of his lower back are helpful. Pain can be helpful.

It's not enough.

The conversation in the car should do something. You talk about things, get them out in the open, and the burden’s shared. Instead, saying the words out loud seems to make them heavier. “I don’t feel free,” Sam says, and his chest fills, suffocating. “I believe in prophecy,” is what Rowena had said. Sam had stuck his knife into her and wondered where the difference was, prophecy, fate. He thinks about Dean’s knife in Ruby’s gut and Rowena’s fragile bones, small-framed like Ruby. He’d never fucked Rowena but they’d both of them wanted it. He had thought they would, some time.

They stop on the way back, a motel somewhere outside Omaha. Sam can’t bring himself to sleep. He doesn’t know what he’ll say. He can imagine Dean frowning at him, suspicious in a way he hasn’t been. He can imagine himself waking with his hands around Dean’s throat and his brother’s body cooling beneath him.

He waits until he’s certain that Dean has fallen asleep. Then he leaves the room. He doesn’t take the Impala. The roar of her engine would wake Dean, if anything would. Instead he jacks a car from the gas station down the street and drives ten minutes into town. It’s a Friday night and even now, past midnight, the streets are busy. Sam finds a bar. It’s probably a bad idea to get drunk, but the burn of the whisky feels like the least-worst option.

A woman, small and dark, detaches herself from a group of friends and perches beside him. “You all by yourself?” she asks.

Sam thinks of Dean, sleeping. “Yes,” he says.

They fuck in the bathroom, her back pressed against the mirror, the heat of them clouding the glass. Sam clutches her hair in his fist, twists it as she clings to his shoulders, closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see himself. She rakes nails over his back. (Her fingertips ghost the wound on his shoulder and he flinches away. “Sorry,” she says, and he bites the word out of her mouth.) He grips his arm around her back and crushes himself against her. His head spins.

He has the cab leave him maybe a hundred yards from the motel. The cold air should be sobering but he’s hot everywhere. He takes off his boots and lets the gravel dig into the soft underside of his feet.

“Hey.” Dean is sitting in the dark but the streetlight outside casts a dull yellow glow. The tense set of his brother’s shoulders catches in Sam’s stomach, making him nauseous. He closes the door behind him and stands with his hand still splayed out across the wood. The carpet is stiff, almost sticky. Sam might be swaying, or maybe that’s just his head. “Sammy, you-”

“Sorry,” Sam says. “Sorry. I just.”

Dean has been sleeping in a T-shirt and boxers. His knees gleam pale as he makes his way across the room. He reaches behind to take Sam by the wrist, his forearm brushing warm against Sam’s waist. His thumb is a steady pressure and Sam can feel a pulse, although he’s not sure if it’s his own or Dean’s.

“You’ve been drinking,” Dean says, and then he blinks. Sam must. He knows he stinks of sex.

“Sorry,” he says again, and Dean says, “Hey, no. It’s whatever.” He claps Sam on the shoulder. “Good for you.”

Sam opens his mouth for - something - to explain himself, but finds instead that he’s gasping for air that has become suddenly thin.

Dean’s fingers fasten around his shoulder. “Hey.” And then Dean is hugging him, fierce and tight, his face buried in Sam’s neck. The woman’s scent is evaporating from Sam’s skin, is hanging in the air around them. “I got you,” Dean says, muffled.

Sam is shaking. He puts his hand to Dean’s waist and Dean leans into it, pressing his torso against Sam’s. Their hearts are thudding.

“I got you,” Dean says again, and kisses Sam’s jaw, just under his ear.

“Oh,” says Sam, and he steps backwards, bringing Dean with him, his back slamming hard against the door.

“Sam,” Dean says again, still kissing Sam’s face, and then Sam turns and their mouths meet and Sam almost blacks out.

Desire: it’s scary. This is terrifying.

“I’ll hurt you,” Sam says, wavering, and Dean says, “I don’t care.”

**Author's Note:**

> Your comments feed me


End file.
